Of Scotch and Screwdrivers
by BasilDreams
Summary: I still love you, you know." He told me. But what was I to say? If he did, he wouldn't have left me. -- Two years together, and he suddenly left her. Even though he said he never would. But why? Was it his own free will? Or was he forced?


A/N

**So I finally got this idea uploaded, woo hoo! I've had it written in my graph paper sketch pad for awhile, but haven't had a chance to type it up. I don't have a beta, so as always all mistakes are my own. So, read, review, and most importantly, ENJOY!**

"Ziva, let's go out tonight!" Abby whined in my ear.

"I do not know Abby. It-it is too soon. Tears welled in my eyes, but I held them back. What kind of Mossad officer was I? Lesson number one: never show your emotions. It is a sure way to get killed.

"Come on Ziva! It's been two weeks. He was an ass. He used you. You're better than that."

"Yes, I suppose you are correct." I spun myself in Abby's computer chair, thinking of going out without him. I have not in two years. But I might as well get used to it. We will never be together again. Besides, maybe I will find somebody else tonight. _But nobody can be as perfect as him. _ My stomach clenched and my throat choked up.

"Alright Abby. I guess I can. I suppose I must leave the apartment eventually."

"YES! You won't regret it Ziva! I'll swing by and pick you up at eight. I know the perfect club. It's pretty far away, but totally worth it!" I sighed and picked up my bag from Abby's floor as I stood up.

"Alright then. I will see you tonight." I rushed out of the lab before she could see the tears falling.

***

I walked through my closet, trying to find something to wear. Abby informed me that I should "wear something totally kick-ass." As I pawed through the various clothing items, I came across a black, button-up shirt he wore on our first date. _Do not think of him, Ziva. He is not worth it. _ But by the time I could warn myself it was too late. I crumpled onto the floor and began to sob. The assassin in me commanded me to stop, but the woman in me refused to listen. How could he do this to me? I spent two years of my life with him, just for him to- No. I would not think about it. I would be strong. I would show him, even though he was not here, that he had no control over me.

I gathered myself up off of the floor and shoved the shirt in the nearest drawer. I walked to the very back of my closet. This was were I kept my clothes that were not appropriate for work. I pulled out a very short, black leather mini skirt and a white halter top that revealed much of my midriff. _ I might as well go all out tonight._ I stood on the tips of my toes and pulled a box off of the top shelf and tossed the shoes that were in it on the bed, as well as the other clothes and some white, lacy undergarments. _Perhaps I will get to model them tonight…_ I removed the various weapons I had concealed under my clothes and tossed them on the bed. Then I began to strip off the rest of my clothes, leaving a trail all the way to the bathroom.

I turned the tap on as hot as it would go, then poured a capful of vanilla scented bubble bath in. The tub filled quickly and the high water pressure produced a thick layer of snow-white foam on top of the water. I just lay there for a while, letting the hot water relax each of my muscles. It wasn't often I completely let my guard go. But I had had a rough fortnight and needed to calm down.

After a while I stepped out of the tub and wrapped myself in a large, dark blue towel. It was new, and still soft. By then it was six o'clock, and I still had to fix my hair. It took me a total of about two hours and twenty minutes to get it completely dry, straight, and styled, with a part over my right eye. When I was finally happy I set to my makeup and allowed myself half an hour to color my lids dark, giving them a pretty smoky effect. Just as I finished getting dressed, I heard a knock on the door; presumably Abby.

"Come in Abby! It is unlocked!" I shouted through my closed bedroom door. She must have heard me, for I heard the door open and close, followed by sounds of footsteps on the tile.

"I will be out in a second!" I finished putting my silver hoop earrings in and concealed a knife under the halter at my upper back. I would travel light tonight.

"Wow Ziva! You look awesome!" Ziva exclaimed as I walked into the living area.

"As do you." I wasn't lying either. Her hair was up in a messy bun with her bangs covering her forehead. The makeup was darker than usual, but complemented her alabaster skin quite nicely. She spun in a quick circle, obviously showing off her mid-thigh length red skirt and skintight black top.

"Just let me put my shoes on and we will leave," I told her as I slipped on the four-inch stilettos and grabbed my purse.

***

We walked into the crowded club and headed straight to the bar. Strobe lights were flashing and I could hardly hear anything over the blare of the music.

"I'll have a Scotch!" Abby yelled to the tender over the counter.

"And for you?" He asked me.

"Give me a Screwdriver," I immediately responded. Then I reconsidered.

"Screw it. Make it a ScriveDrewer!" I wanted to drink tonight. And I wanted to drink hard.

Abby and I both took seats in the dirty stools and began to scan the crowd for men.

"What about him?" Abby pointed to a man a few meters away, drinking a Bloody Mary.

"Abby!" I exclaimed, "He is drinking a Bloody Mary! I cannot be involved with a man drinking a Bloody Mary!" I snorted and began searching the crowd for a man for my best friend.

"Feast your mouth on that, Abby! He looks delicious!"

"Eyes, Ziva! Feast your eyes!"

"You do not eat with your eyes, Abby. Why must everybody always correct my English?"

I continued to stare at the man. His back was turned to me but I could tell he was gorgeous. I sighed as the man picked up his drink and his back muscles flexed. He was sitting four seats to the left of Abby. She shot a quick glance at him before turning back to me.

"Actually Abby, I am sorry. I think I may want this one for myself." I smiled and thought of the fun we could have.

"That's fine. He's not really my type anyways. Too muscley. But perfect for you! Oh you too could have such a –" She broke off when she heard my glass hit the floor and shatter. She looked down at the broken shards then swiveled her chair around to follow my gaze. I barely recognized her saying, "Oh shit."

Because I was totally absorbed.

Because he turned around.

Because or eyes connected.

Because it was _him_.

A/N

**So what do you think? Love it? Hate it? Should I continue it? Push the little button thing underneath this A/N and tell me! Remember, reviews make me happy, and being happy makes me update! Then, me updating (hopefully) makes you review again and the cycle starts all over :) **

**By the way, a Screwdriver is one part vodka and two parts orange juice. A ScriveDrewer is one part orange juice and three parts vodka.**

**-BasilDreams**


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